Wedding Vows
by The-Reichenbach-Feels
Summary: 3 years ago, John Watson saw his best friend jump off the roof of St Barts. Now he feels as if the vows he's about to say to his bride are meant for someone else. Another Post-Reichenbach, rated T for swearing. Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1: Interruptions

Hi guys. This is my first fanfic ever. Not much mature content… some swearing and such. John has some relationships with women but in the end it will always be Johnlock. If you don't like stories about gay army doctors and consulting detectives, please exit now. I don't own anything except the plot (though I had inspiration)

This is set post-reichenbach.

* * *

3 years. 3 bloody years since he had seen his best friend jump off a roof. So many things he could have said but went unheard. John H Watson stared out the stained glass window. Earlier in the day it had been raining, leaving a light mist outside. John squinted through the window, trying to see past the depiction of Jesus or an angel or whatever it was. John was not a very religious man. He never really had been but all ideas of a god had vanished when he had met the man closest to being a god. His name again. The word still ran through his brain. Every minute, every second.

_Sherlock._

"-On? John? Mate, you alright?" John's eyes flicked up to where he was being called. Greg Lestrade was standing over him, his grey hairs more prominent than they had been recently, probably due to the coal black suit and crisp white shirt he was wearing.

"John… You're doing it again. Spacing out. Look-" Lestrade tried to start something but was abruptly cut off.

"Greg, I'm fine. Just a bit nervous is all." The ex-army doctor tried to give a weak smile to his friend. Lestrade didn't seem too convinced, "I mean, Greg. You can understand what I'm going through, right?"

The detective inspector stared at John and shook his head, "I know you get stressed with these kind of things. I mean, bloody hell John. But… This is different and you know why."

John slumped a bit in the armchair, head resting in his palms for just a few seconds. When he looked back up he had a friendly grin on his face. He stood and brushed off his tuxedo, adjusting the bow a little and picked up his cane. Patting his friend on the shoulder he crossed to room and stood by the door briefly. Without looking back at Lestrade he spoke,

"Everything's good, mate. It's fantastic."

John hoped Lestrade didn't notice the waver in his voice as he limped out of the room. Lestrade shook his head, now alone in the room.

_Is it really a good idea to get married so near the cemetery, John?_

The church was rather full. John Watson was a likeable man, and it showed from the amount of friends and family that had shown up on his side. From the front of the church and leaning on his cane, John recognized most people. Neither of his parents were there, but he hadn't expected them to be. His family had been drifting apart ever since Harry had come out. Joining the army had been his only escape. But no one had ever known that apart from Harry and John. Except… Sherlock. He had known. He'd never told John he knew but John was sure of it. Neither of their families had been close. Yet another connection they had shared. And- No. John cleared his head of Sherlock. It would only make things worse. John was _happy_ now, wasn't he? He had moved on, or so he kept telling himself… Found a lovely woman. About to be married.

He continued to scan the crowd, who were pleasantly chatting. Sarah from surgery was here; she gave him a bright smile and turned back to a conversation with her new boyfriend. He knew Harry was here, in the church, probably helping his wife-to-be get ready. Her wife, Clara was sitting in the second row. After Sherlock's death they had gotten back together and sorted things out. Many friends from Scotland Yard and Surgery were here. Whenever he caught an eye he offered a clear smile. Greg slid up beside John and tapped him on the shoulder. John turned and raised an eyebrow in question. Lestrade cleared his throat and whispered,

"Uh... John, can you come here for a sec? Someone wants to –uh- talk to you."

Confused, John looked around. No one stood out. He knew he had plenty of time until the wedding actually began so he shrugged and followed Lestrade.

A man in a 3-piece suit was facing one of the windows of the parlor. His ginger-brown hair combed over his head. John knew who it was before he turned around. The doctor grimaced.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Ah John, good to see you too."

"Mycroft"

"Congratulations on the wedding. Mary, was it? Her background doesn't betray any horrible scandals so I can only hope for the best."

"Answer the question, Mycroft, or I will not hesitate to punch the British government in the face."

"I trust you've heard the news?"

John opened his mouth to say something but stopped.

"Ok then you haven't. Honestly John, I know you haven't forgotten him. Telling yourself to move on, are you? I expected more of you."

"Mycroft, wh-"

Mycroft fished a newspaper clipping out of his pocket.

"This is from this morning. News is quickly spreading to other newspapers. I've already received info that the story will be the feature of several front pages tomorrow. He handed the clipping to John. John stared at the Holmes elder for a second then took the clipping out of his hand.

He almost dropped to the ground. Gracing the slip of paper was a blown up picture of the consulting detective that John just couldn't forget. The photo was attractive, the wind blowing through his dark curls, his bright eyes open and looking into the camera, clearly deep in thought. His cheekbones were high and prominent. He looked exactly like the man John had spent so long memorizing, longing for. He reached out and traced the curls before he sucked in a breath at the headline. In bold letters across the background of the photo it read "GENIUS DETECTIVE WAS FRAMED. EVIDENCE PROVES SHERLOCK HOLMES INNOCENT."

He reread that sentence over and over again. The article was true to the headline.

"_Three years ago, consulting detective and apparent genius Sherlock Holmes was accused of being a fraud and hiring "Richard Brook." To play the part of an evil mastermind: Jim Moriarty. An article written by former-reporter Kitty Riley claimed Holmes hired actor "Richard" to play villain as to make Holmes seem like a hero. Soon after the article was published, Holmes jumped to his death off the roof of St Bart's hospital. The reason why was assumed to be that he was proved to be a fake. Evidence has recently come to light that proves the detective innocent. Richard Brooks never existed. An investigation into the supposed actor went underway and they found out each of his documents and proof of existence was forged and certified fake. Jim Moriarty was also proved to have been what many interrogated men called a 'consulting criminal.' Further investigation has gone into Holmes's case and why he committed suicide but his name has been cleared. Recently more protests have been starting around Holmes's name and now they have a further boost. As their slogan stands, "I believe in Sherlock Holmes." _

John didn't notice he was crying until a teardrop stained the page. When he looked up, Mycroft was looking smug. He folded his arms and started walking towards the exit.

"Mycroft."

"Keep the clipping, John. And do have a good wedding."

"You… you helped didn't you?"

Mycroft stopped and turned to look at John.

"I didn't want my family name to be tarnished now, did I?"

"Th-thank you…So much."

Mycroft stared at him. John almost smiled. Sherlock used to look just like that.

"I have a feeling John. That if my brother hadn't died, you wouldn't be having a wedding now." And with that Mycroft was gone

John only gaped at the spot where Mycroft had been standing a minute ago. His cheeks flushed at the meaning of the sentence because at the back of his head there was a little voice chanting, _He's right, he's right._

When he walked back out to the alter, he still had a few minutes. Geez women took long to prepare. It would have taken less time if it had been Sher… John paused. What was he thinking? He loved Mary now. She had helped him… but… no. Sherlock was dead.

Lestrade was back by his side in another two minutes. His eyes were a bit wet though his grin was wide and John deduced he had found out about Sherlock as well. Lestrade patted him on the back and they shared a smile of relief. No words were needed. At Sherlock's funeral, Lestrade had sincerely apologized for doubting Sherlock and said he still believed in him. John had eventually caved in and forgiven him. After that, they had become good friends and now Lestrade was John's best man.

John noticed him wave at someone in the pews and turned to see Molly. Molly caught his eye and looked shocked for a second. He had sent her an invite but hadn't expected her to come. She hadn't been in touch recently. She gave him a forced smile and nervously averted her gaze elsewhere, becoming very interested in flowers near the door. He turned to Greg with a questioning look and Greg shrugged, "I haven't been out with her recently, but she's acting a bit strange." John acknowledged this with a nod. He had found out that they had tried to pursue a relationship after Lestrade's wife left him but hadn't heard of it since. He assumed that there was nothing happening between them any more or else he may have heard more.

The church organ began to play and John snapped out of his thoughts. He shot his eyes down to the end of the aisle and there she was. Mary. Beautiful as ever, with her blonde hair pinned up over her head and her pale skin clean and delicate in her long white dress. A veil covered her face though John knew under the veil she was still gorgeous. She never accepted anything less than perfect, especially with her own appearance. She stood alone, bouquet in her hands and bridesmaids trailing behind her. Neither of her parents were here either, except this was because her mother was deceased and her father still missing and suspected dead. She started floating towards him, every step perfect, not once wobbling in her high heels. She had been practicing walking in them around the apartment for so long and had even sprained an ankle once. She was graceful but it reminded him all too much of someone else's walk. His long practiced strides, one foot in front of the other, each time without a mistake. What if he had been walking down the aisle instead? NO! John was _not gay. _He couldn't have loved Sherlock, could he have? But all the things he wanted to say to him…

Mary was soon in front of him. He stopped thinking about…him… and lifted her veil. She truly was beautiful; he lips shining red and eyes bright. _Sherlock's eyes were brighter. What? Stop no… I love Mary, right?_

So he had convinced himself he did. Somewhere in his head, he thought he said he loved Mary just to move on from Sherlock and now he was committing to a lifetime with her. The priest droned on for what seemed like ages. Every now and then Mary squeezed his hand or smiled at him, her teeth a brilliant white. He looked back at Mary and smiled, squeezed her hand in return, but his stomach was rolling and head still spinning from the news of Sherlock's innocence. Finally it was time.

"John Watson, do you take Mary Morstan for your lawful wedded wife, to live in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love, honour, comfort and cherish her from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto her as long as you both shall live?"

The question. Such a simple response, yet he had practiced to himself so many times, never sounding too convinced. He had even spoken it to Sherlock's grave, wondering if he'd approve of Mary. He looked into Mary's eyes.

"I –"

He was cut off by the sound of doors slamming open at the other end of the chapel and a resonating gasp. He looked back and froze in shock.

"I'm not too late am I?"

A familiar deep voice echoed through the room. There standing in jeans and a well-fitting blue t-shirt – hardly his usual look – looking slightly out of breath but composed with the slightest hint of a smirk on his face, dark curls, cheekbones and all was Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

Well that was long ;) Hope it was Ok but it didn't sound quite right in some places. :/ Oh well, next chapter up at some point.


	2. Chapter 2: Reunion

Hi! Sorry for the long break. School projects and swimming and stuff :P Chapter 2!

* * *

John could hear something muffled. Voices talking in the distance. A deep voice became clearer. He knew that voice. It was Sherlock's voice.

_Sherlock. Sherlock, where are you? You're dead. Come back. I miss you._

The same thoughts, every time his name was mentioned.

The same dreams, same reactions. Sherlock falling, hitting the ground. Swallowed up by the pavement. No matter how many times Sherlock called out to him, he never turned to him. Only looked at him with cold eyes and jumped off the building. John felt like he was screaming, though no words came out, his throat straining. Suddenly he jerked up, gasping for hair. He had been lying down. His head hit against something and he groaned in pain. He could hear someone else moaning and looked up quickly. A man was sitting close in front of him, rubbing his forehead, presumably from butting heads with John. The lanky man dragged the hand down from his face and John sucked in a breath. He found himself staring in eyes the colour of the sea. Green and blue in a lovely composition, shifting with each change of light. He had seen these eyes before.

_Sherlock._

But it wasn't possible. Until he moved his eyes, realizing they had been transfixed on the one spot. Down. The cupids-bow lips. How so many times John had wanted to reach out. To touch them. To pull Sherlock towards him. Up. The unruly hair. John's fingers ached to run his fingers through the thick deep curls. Down again. Those god-darn cheekbones. John briefly thought of the time John had punched him and how his hand had hurt after slamming into the prominent little demons. In front of him, hovering a mere few centimeters from his face, was the face of Sherlock Holmes.

_Oh what 3 years without him has done to me. I'm hallucinating._

A sudden pang in his head, caused him to wince in pain. John closed his eyes tightly and groaned. A concussion.

_Of course. I must have fallen and now I have a concussion. Oh great, that's why I'm hallucinating. As if Sherlock would be alive, or even sitting so close to me._

He lay back down, eyes still closed and head pounding. He stilled and the pain dulled but his head still spun. He was lying on what felt like a bed. It was soft and warm but John hardly felt it at all. John squeezed his eyes tighter to prevent bitter tears.

_Sherlock._

He lay there for a while, just listening. It all felt like a dream to him. Deep voices rumbling in the room. He was too buzzed to make out anything. The voices grew louder. Then disappeared. He felt something run across his cheek. Bony fingers, cool and gentle. He flinched and opened his eyes, only to see the retreating figure of a tall shadowy being. John closed his eyes again and lay his head back into the soft pillow, gradually falling back into blurred dreams.

* * *

When he woke again he noticed instantly that he felt so much better. The room also felt thick. John couldn't explain it but even with his eyes closed he could practically feel tension in the air.

_What?_

He wearily opened his eyes and grunted at the bright light that came down from above. Suddenly, as if a bubble had popped, the room was alive with sound and movement. A range of voices. Low, high, he may have recognized some apart from the fact that it was just so loud. He heard his own name several times though.

"John!"

"Joh-"

"Watson..."

He looked up and gradually shifted himself up, finally lifting his head and glancing around the room. The faces of friends and family alike stared back at him. He was in his apartment, lit brightly and full of people. His own bed. It took him a minute to adjust to it all before he heard a door slam open and someone scream his name.

"John! Johnny-dear! Honey! Oh lord!"

And a slender female body threw herself at him, choking him in a death-grip embrace. The grip gradually loosened off and a mop of shiny long blonde hair came into view followed by a flawlessly made-up face. John's shoulders slacked a bit. He was relieved to see his Mary in front of him but he couldn't help but feel a bit dis-hearted.

_Mary... She's no Sherlock but- No. He's dead._

He threw away his thoughts and smiled at Mary. She leaned in quickly and pecked him on the cheek several times before kissing him hard on the mouth.

"Oh John, I was so _worried _about you" She spoke in her posh accent that he had grown accustomed to. Often the only voice that kept him going in the 3 years since the fall. Mary. His beautiful blonde girl. Slender, pretty, adventurous, clever, loving and the perfect woman.

_But no Sherlock. _

Mary looked at John with her brown eyes. Deep and sincere. Human.

"I love you John." She whispered.

John smiled though it felt forced.

"I love you too."

John grunted more as he sat up higher. The remaining people in the room were all smirking or glowering at him. He raised his eyebrows. What had happened...?

He looked at Mary who had sat back and was staring at him with a worried, almost envious glance. Then he remembered...

...

_Bloody hell. The WEDDING._

"Mary." he started, "What the hell happened at our wedding."

Mary looked at him then turned her head away and glared at the wall. A slight pout formed on her full lips.

_Wedding interupted. But by what? _

John's head hurt more as he tried to remember.

_Oh god. No. That's not possible._

"Sherlock?" The word was almost a ghost upon his lips.

"You have a guest, darling." she spoke through gritted teeth.

* * *

Staggering through the hallways he could hear the whispers of people around him. Nervous, dark, joking tones filled his ears. As he stopped in the middle of the hall and glanced around, a hush fell around the multitude of guests. People averted their gazes from him though a few looked on strangely. He recognized his own sister Harry who was gazing at him with eyes as wide as sauce-pans. She rushed towards him and tugged on his arm.

"John." she hissed, "Why did he come? Didn't he, you know, DIE?"

_He. He's here. He is. SHERLOCK._

John stared back at Harry, breathing hard. Harry studied her brother for a second before sighing. She stood up straighter, brushed a dirty blonde strand of her pageboy haircut out of her eyes and nudged him in the ribs.

"What're you waiting for, Johnny? Go on."

He looked at Harry and could almost detect the hint of a smirk before turning and walking briskly down the hall. The group of people thinned out until he reached the end. The door to the guest bedroom was closed but inside he could hear men talking. The sound of footsteps came towards him from inside and John almost ducked into the bathroom to hide before remembering that this was his own apartment. He puffed out his chest and waited. To say he was surprised when Greg Lestrade opened the door was an understatement. Greg looked at him, sincere and hopeful. He chuckled nervously and patted John on the shoulder.

"Dear god John, dear god." He paused and started walking down the hall before turning back and smiling slightly, "Be seeing you at Scotland Yard soon." and then he was gone. Hiding in-between two co-workers from the clinic then slipping away. John turned back to the door. He let out a breath and shakily reached for the doorknob. Building up his confidence, he pushed open the door and stepped in. Mycroft Holmes was standing inside glowering at another side of the room.

"-You can't just DO something like that, broth-" he stopped and snapped his head in John Watson's direction. He was red-faced, disheveled and his chest rose and fell like he had been shouting for a while. His eyes were cold towards the doctor for a second before composing himself into something calmer. He nodded curtly and drew out his name.

"Good evening Dr Watson. I see you're feeling better. Now..." Mycroft picket up an umbrella from the windowsill behind him and swept past John, stopping at the door.

"Brother, dear. Please be kind to John." Drawled Mycroft. And then he shut the door. The sound of his patent leather shoes and click of the umbrella ferule fading.

* * *

_Him. Brother. Sherlock..._

John slowly rotated to the side of the room that Mycroft had been shouting in. The guest bed was still perfectly made. Though the armchair beside it had been turned to face the window on the wall, it's back to John. Peeping over the back were the same unruly curls John had sworn he'd seen earlier. He walked over, counting each stride it took him to reach the window.

_1, 2, 3, 4-._

There he was. Sherlock Holmes. The consulting detective. His perfect profile angled towards the window. His eyes awake and his hands together under his chin as John had seen him so many time. He blinked and John followed the shape of his eyelashes up and down. Then it dawned on him. The wedding. Sherlock had been there. He had _interrupted _his supposed fairytale marriage to John's beautiful fiancé. Sherlock had been there this morning, butting heads with John, his nose almost brushing John's, deducing. He was here. After 3 _damn _years. Sherlock Holmes was alive.

The alive Sherlock Holmes turned his face towards John and smiled,

"Hello John. Sorry about the wedding."

His deep rumbling voice almost made John shiver. But he was alive.

_Alive? After 3 bloody years. So much to say. So much I want to do..._

_"_Sherlock." A feeble word was all he could manage.

Sherlock's grin faltered. "John." He stood up and studied his former flatmate, "You're upset and frankly, shocked. Yo-" John cut him off.

"Shocked. I wonder why I'm shocked. Maybe because the man who was my best friend, who was supposed to have committed suicide _3 fucking years ago _has just shown up, interrupted my wedding and is sitting here like you've just come back from the bloody supermarket instead of back from the dead"

"John-"

"No. Sherlock. Do you even give two shits about what's happened while you were gone? About me? Was this all just some game to you? Well look at that! If it, you've won. You have beaten me in you game, Sherlock. Is that all our friendship was, a BLOODY GAME? I thought that I could've lo-"

_I could have loved you. Would you ever have loved me?_

He stopped because he realized he was shouting. His cheeks felt wet as he stared at Sherlock Holmes.

"You're upset... I'm sorry. I can explain." was all he said. Something inside John snapped and he lunged at Sherlock. For the second time in his life he punched Sherlock Holmes. This time was more severe though. His fist connecting with the detective's jaw. A crunching sound and a gasp of pain as Sherlock stumbled and crashed into the chair beside him and slapping against the wall. The man sunk down to his knee's, clutching his face. He looked up at John who stood, panting, fist clenched. John looked down on him for once. Seeing him as everyone else did.

The freak. The psychopath. The monster. The machine. But there was something so human behind his gaze. Something gentle. His eyes weren't as bright as the last time they'd seen each other. He was skinnier. His posture hunched. His hair mussed and discoloured. He looked weaker, afraid. His eyes looked haunted. The same look John had seen in so many soldier's eyes. He was no longer the great detective. He was man who had seen things he never wanted to see. It occurred to John that the past 3 years had been equally as tough on Sherlock as on him. And here he was standing over him. The real monster.

Sherlock looked down at the floor and closed his eyes. A dark bruise was forming under his eyes where he's been punched. He spoke softly.

"I deserve it. I'm so sorry John. I had to do it." he looked back up at John. "You can punch me again if it makes you feel better."

It sounded sadistic, but here was John, a doctor, witnessing as his best-friend winced with pain at a mark he had created. Here was Sherlock letting it happen. John was undone. He collapsed onto Sherlock and sobbed grossly. 3 years of pain being let out. Sherlock was stiff for a second before adjusting his position to suit the both of them. John was lying against his chest, whilst he encircled his arms around Sherlock's bony figure. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's shoulders and embraced him tightly.

_He's alive, dear god, he's alive... _

It struck John how warm it was. Even after John stopped crying, they stayed there. He rested his head on Sherlock's chest and listened to his heart beat. Closing his eyes, he forgot about what the future would hold for them. Reunited. All but one word ran through his mind.

_Sherlock. _

* * *

Welp. That took a while. NEXT TIME. I will probably get rid of Mary. I have nothing against Mary. I think she would be a very strong, independent woman but I honestly prefer Johnlock. If it all wasn't so homosexual, I would feel fine for Mary/John. PLEASE REVIEW :D


	3. Chapter 3: Arguments

Huge hiatus ahhhhh. Sorry again. Exams, swimming and other things happened. School's over now though. So enjoy this shitty chapter.

* * *

John's head was swimming. Yet for the first time in months it was a pleasant feeling. His eyes opened slightly. It was dark. John could make out the shadows on the ceiling and soon found out he was back in his own room. Rubbing his eyes, he shifted up to a sitting position. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the lighting and when it did he almost caught his breath. He was sitting up in his own bed once more, the slumbering body of his to-be wife next to him. He stared at Mary and around the room once more, finding it disappointingly empty.

_Was that all a dream?_

He groaned and clutched his head. The swimming in his head was transitioning into a pounding sensation. He shifted the duvet off his legs and slipped on his rugged slippers from the side of the bed. It had become a routine whilst living with Mary. The same old things everyday. All so...

_Boring. That's what he's say_

John huffed and shuffled out of the room. He had done enough sleeping and moping around. There was truth to be uncovered and John Watson certainly wasn't the man to sleep through it. Following the shaft of light from down the hall, he pushed the kitchen door open. What he saw stopped him. Literally passed out, sitting on a chair and leaning over the kitchen counter was Sherlock Holmes. John had to stop himself for a minute before over-reacting again. But he felt he had to be credited. You can only have so much self-control after your best friend comes back from the dead.

John couldn't help himself and walked over to his sleeping friend. He suppressed as his earlier suspicions were confirmed. Sherlock was clearly in a weaker state from the "Great Detective" John remembered so vividly. But he was still Sherlock. The messy hair, the lanky limbs, the voice. It just felt so right to have him so close. But there was still so much between them.

_3 years. How am I supposed to fit him back into my life after 3 years. Oh god, what about Mary._

John sighed and started preparing a cup of tea. The same old routine every single day. Work, tea, Mary, it all revolved around the routine. Forget one thing and it's broken. The glass that was John's developed routine would be shattered down, blown down by the billowing winds of Sherlock.

There was so much to do. Re-settling Sherlock into his life. Getting everyone to work together over it. The media.

_Oh god the media._

Not to mention the wedding that was now in shambles. It appeared from earlier that the guests of what was supposed to be a wedding had left. Instead an odd collection of notes were piled onto the counter. John sifted through them and they were all similar. Awkward messages, condolences, a few angry notes. They went into the bin. What had happened at that time baffled John. All he remembered was Sherlock. Being with Sherlock. In his arms, the sight, smell, all of it. Just Sherlock. The man flushed a bit thinking about it.

_Were we found like that?_

John blushed even more. But he knew he couldn't put this off. But put what off really?

_My uh...feelings? For Sherlock. Yes._

It took John a few minutes to realize he had made 2 cups of tea.

_Routine._

He told himself. But he never made 2 cups of tea. Mary only drank her coffee and strange herbal blends. He nearly cursed. Sherlock had managed to slip so effortlessly back into his life. Leaving the two cups of tea on the counter near Sherlock, John slipped out to the living room and drew the curtains. They had never had the best view of the stars from this apartment but a few still peaked through the light pollution. John pressed his head against the glass.

The swimming in his head continued to escalate.

Just so many questions. All about Sherlock though. Where had he gone? Why come back now? What are you wearing? Why? Why did you jump?

"Stargazing, are we John?" rumbled a voice from behind him.

John turned and faced Sherlock who was rubbing his eyes absentmindedly. Even in the dim glow of the kitchen light, his eyes continued to shift colour. Settling on a deep blue-green tone. Sherlock stuck out his hand gingerly and John stared down into the mug Sherlock was handing him. The tea. He accepted it, trying to stop himself from enjoying the split-second John's hand brushed against the younger mans. Sherlock turned back to the table and came back with his own mug. He stood up against the window staring up.

John just stared at him. The anger and confusion built up in him once more.

"We have a lot to talk about Sherlock..."

Sherlock nodded, slurping up a bit of his tea.

"I never meant to hurt you John. I had no choice."

"And why not?"

"Moriarty."

John sighed exasperated, "What about him Sherlock? What happened to him? Why di-"

"He's dead. Moriarty. Shot himself up on the rooftop."

John nearly burnt his throat with too much tea.

"What! What about his body!?"

"I suspect his men cleared it all up."

"Ok. Ok Sherlock fine." John set his mug down on the coffee table and plopped down into his armchair. He planted his face into his hands, suppressing his deep breaths, "But what about you Sherlock?"

"I said I had no choice.."

"Sherlock! _Please!"_

_"John! _Listen to me! 3 gunmen on 3 people who I cared about! HE WOULD HAVE KILLED THEM" Sherlock slammed down his mug onto the table, tea splashing out onto the wood. His hand was shaking.

The silence was deafening. John lifted his head speechless.

"Mrs Hudson...?"

"And Lestrade-"

"But who else."

Sherlock looked at him, deep into his eyes. John already knew the answer. Sherlock came close to the armchair and crouched down in front of John.

"You. Moriarty was going to kill the person closest to me and that was you John. I had to fake my own death. I can't live with you dead. I..." Sherlock stopped, trying to compose himself. "I... _need _you John. 3 years not being able to see you killed me."

John's face screwed up.

"Ok, I'm sorry, it's too soon to use that figure of speech but it wasn't easy for me either John." A single tear was forming in Sherlock's eye and the detective hastily wiped it off and stood up straight again, retreating back to the window. John was close to tears.

"Sherlock."

"I know I'm sorry. I knew what was going to happen and there was nothing I could do. I had to be dead. To save you." Sherlock wasn't even looking at him as he stared out the window.

"The homeless network helped me. All the people walking along the street were a part of the network. The sniper that was in the opposite building, focused on YOU had to see me jump and he did. But not land. A truck was blocking the view of my landing zone. Down there, the men hidden in the truck caught me. Then we added the fake blood and contacts. The bike who knocked you over was in on it as well. We needed time and when you arrived everything was set up."

"But.." John was speechless, "But the cameras, and the hospital workers. I took you _damn pulse. _I thought you were dead Sherlock!"

"Simple trick. The blue rubber ball I had from earlier under my sleeve. No pulse shown. The way I was laid out and where you were to be positioned indicated which hand I needed to put the ball on. Hospital workers and cameras were easy enough. Cameras were disabled for a short period of time, enough for me to appear deceased. Hospital workers weren't in on it. Except for the autopsy... Molly helped me."

John jumped up, "Molly knew!?" he shouted, "She knew? And she didn't tell me?!" John remembered Molly's suspicious behavior at the wedding and her dropped contact between them. John stalked up to Sherlock.

"John." He spoke his voice even. "Jim didn't know about Molly. She wasn't in danger. Moriarty's men were still out there, if they knew I was alive you would still be in danger. You were in danger this whole time. Please John I'm sorry I couldn't tell you."

"Sherlock..." He stuttered, grabbing onto the detective's shirt, "3 years and you couldn't even tell me. I waited for you. I thought you would... But..." His head landed into Sherlock's back and Sherlock stiffened up again. He slowly turned round and awkwardly placed his arms around John, resting his head on top of the shorter mans.

"I missed you John."

John sucked in a deep breath, remaining motionless as Sherlock embraced him. Sherlock began to panic at the lack of reaction and began to pull away but John wrapped his arms tightly around the man and held him tightly.

"Did Mycroft...?"

"He began to grow suspicious when Moriarty's web began disappearing. Eventually he found me in Poland and after much scolding, actually helped me."

"You mean?"

"Yes. All of Moriarty's men are dead or in prison."

"Sherlock."

"Yes John?"

"We still have a lot to do."

"I realize."

The men stood there, perfectly still in embrace. John mused that they fit together rather well, like puzzle pieces. Sherlock shifted his head a little and pressed his nose into John's hair, inhaling. Then he froze before gingerly moving and pressing something soft and gentle onto his head before quickly moving back to leaning on his head.

John paused. Had Sherlock just? Kissed him?

_No he couldn't have. This is Sherlock we're talking about. _

John's cheeks reddened ever so slightly. He heard a noise from behind them. Someone clearing their throat.

_Mary!_

John broke apart from Sherlock at record speed and blushed furiously. Mary was standing against the kitchen door frame, silhouetted by the light from the kitchen. She was glaring at Sherlock.

"I didn't realize _he _had stayed the night." Venom dripping from her voice. She glared at turn to John. "John dear. We need to _talk._"

_Oh god she emphasized the talk. Shit what did I do._

He turned back to where Sherlock had been only to find the man had escaped the room. He heard the guest bedroom door slam. Gulping, John turned back to Mary.

"Such a shame to break up the happy couple."

"Mary I-"

"No! No, I'm sure you were planning on telling me at some point."

"What are you talking about?"

She laughed, "Oh you know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Holding each other in the light of the stars? How romantic."

"Mary I'm not gay. And neither is Sherlock, we're not in any kind of relationship."

"Well you should see the way he looks at you."

He stopped, gaping at Mary.

"Honey, I love you don't I? We're getting married."

"Are we?"

_What?_

"Of course we are."

"So I'm not just the replacement for him? You're going to give him up for me?"

"Mary."

"We'll talk more in the morning. _Good night_ John." she hissed and stalked down the hall.

John collapsed into the armchair and groaned.

_Bloody hell that woman._

But she was true. If he married her, he would have to leave everything Sherlock behind. He would grow up with Mary, have kids, live a regular life. Could he ever do that? Now that _he _was back? Could he stand living a normal, boring life when the promise of Sherlock Holmes stuck in the air.

_Am I ready to lose him again?_

* * *

__Well that was pretty horrible. New chapter whenever. I tried to get rid of Mary but my typing fingers had other ideas. I have new ideas as well, 100 different ways to get rid of Mary Morstan. Thank you to my friends for putting up with my writing-related craziness.


End file.
